Tropical Romance, aka Delightful Monkey Love
by isaytoodlepip
Summary: Quick, light-hearted romance. After Harry's 3rd year, Sirius hides out in the tropics. Who hides under the covers with him? Slash


****

A/N: This is SLASH, RL/SB pairing, so there's your warning in advance. Also, this is a short piece, so don't expect new chapters (not that you'll want to see more of this or anything…as I shamelessly hint around for undeserved praise…yes, shower me with your affection please and I my spare you from all my horrid angst-filled melodramas. Yay!).

"Don't suppose you could rub some lotion on my shoulders?" grumbled Sirius Black as he lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the silvery light of the sun of Antigua. 

The small rhesus nodded with his whole body and held out his hand, silently demanding a coin for his cuteness.

"Never mind," Sirius sighed, half-sitting up from the cheap plastic recliner so he could peel the sweat-soaked shirt from his torso. "I'm not _that_ desperate," he grinned at the man tending the poolside bar. 

Sirius lay back down, briefly foretelling an unattractive pattern of stripes on his back from the chair. Sighing again, he took in this unforgivably generic tropical paradise where he found himself. Maybe he would have approved of all the coconut and bamboo and reggae music and the imported monkey and tiki torches had he been in England, but this was Antigua for God's sake! A genuine island in the genuine tropics that offered its own authentic charm without need of pretense. 

Sirius allowed his gaze to linger on some unappealing flashes of bronze flesh before picking up his discarded T-shirt, rolling it up, and placing it over his eyes. He thought about getting a towel to cover the chair, but the pool was swarming with other pasty white people who would jump at the chance to steal a seat close to the bar and drink away their insecurities. Letting it go, Sirius concentrated on the sound of suntan lotion, coconut rum and chlorine, and the permeating warmth of the sun on his skin.

An hour later he was raiding the minibar of his room, cringing at the guilt of hiding in such luxury. Three days earlier, he had received an envelope from Albus Dumbledore which contained, along with well wishes and orders to stay safe and far away from Britain, a healthy stipend from "a generous benefactor". Sirius had the sinking feeling that the 15 grand he had locked in the hotel safe was a healthy portion of the yearly salary of one Professor Remus J. Lupin, who, if a few brief moments in the darkness of the Shrieking Shack were anything to go by, had obviously not spent his paychecks on robes. When Sirius had seen the money, he had been tempted to send it back. Then he reconsidered and thought about squirreling it away in the nearest bank. But on his way into town, he caught glimpse of himself in the shop windows and decided that a warm bed and shower and meal might not be considered indulgences.

But that was three days ago, and Sirius was _still_ rooming in the four-star resort. Chugging down a kiddie bottle of Absolute, he resolved himself to checking out in the morning and maybe finding a secluded wreck of a house to rent for a few months while the news flurry over his escape settled into page fifteen side notes. Then maybe he'd go further south, or to China, or to the Philippines, or any country that did not have an extradition treaty with the British Ministry, just in case he was caught. And maybe he could send word to Remus. Remus who would have felt so good putting sun block on his shoulders and back and neck and chest and and and. Remus who should be living in paradise with the money he earned, the money that was so hard to find in a world of prejudice and ignorance. Remus who should have been taking advantage of a very inebriated and very willing Sirius Black at that very moment.

The next morning, Sirius woke up taking advantage of his mattress. Scrunching his eyes up in defense against the pale light bleeding through his curtains, Sirius blindly made his way across the room, knocking over a passable model of Stonehenge in Malibu bottles on his way to a cold shower. Too nauseated to stomach a complementary breakfast, he politely informed the concierge of his intention to check out and then headed to the pool to take advantage of the two hours left in this tacky Eden.

Tossing his shirt onto "his chair", Sirius immersed himself into the pool, doing a few cursory laps before swimming to the wall, pulling himself along with his hands until he felt a comfortable pulse of jet stream against his navel from the business end of the filtration system. Grinning at the impulse to use this as an opportunity to rid himself of the tension that a cold shower had not cured him of, Sirius nevertheless calmed himself, turned around and, stretching his arms behind him to cling to the lip of the pool, he positioned himself so the numbing current was aimed at the small of his back and then used his feet to anchor himself to the wall.

After twenty minutes, Sirius decided he was pruney enough and he pulled himself out of the pool, grabbing a towel as he made his way back to his chair, pleasantly surprised to find his shirt still there. Quickly rubbing down with the towel and reveling in the feel of terrycloth against his skin, Sirius lowered the back of his recliner as far as it could go and then spread himself over it, exposing his sun-starved back to the sky. He felt himself falling into a doze just when a soft cooing sounded before him. Folding his arms beneath his chin, he looked up to see the rhesus, hand held out for a donation.

"I thought I already declined your offer to put on lotion?" Sirius smiled, wishing he had something on him to give to the persistent fellow.

"Is the position still open, then?"

Startled, Sirius twisted around to look at the source of the voice, a man with honey-bronzed hair not too different from the fugitive tresses he used to clench his fists in years and years ago.

"Yes," Sirius answered, amazed at the liquid calm in his voice, "But I should get back to my room soon. Checking out in an hour," he finished, amazed at his stupidity.

"How is the sun in your room?" the man asked.

"Nice," Sirius answered. "The place is almost all windows and ocean views."

"That happens on islands," he smiled. "You might need this up there then," he continued, handing Sirius the bottle of sunscreen that had been lying in wait on the table next to him.

"I might need help with that," Sirius whispered in a voice that betrayed more fear than charm.

"Lead the way."

They made their way in silence to Sirius's room, Sirius making a conscious effort not to play with the bottle in his hand.

"It's nice," his companion said, taking in the room and the sweeping gesture Sirius made with his arm.

"Nicer than a man like me deserves," Sirius answered, kicking off his sandals and putting the sun block on the bedside table.

"I'm sure that's not true," he countered. "Everyone deserves a holiday with tropical floral patterns, frescos of toucans, and little cabana boys bearing treys of drinks with paper umbrellas."

"Keep talking like that and I'll never want to leave," Sirius smiled.

"Then don't leave. Stay another night."

"I can't. This place is costing me a fortune that shouldn't be mine to spend," Sirius frowned.

"Oh? Someone paying your way?"

Hands at the nape of his neck, long, slender fingers playing over the fine hairs there.

"Yes, just for now."

Fingers walking down his back, up under his shirt, pulling it off, running over his skin, he didn't know where.

"You look bothered by it."

Soft, warm, moist air at his neck, the feel of being breathed in and on.

"He shouldn't…have to give up… so much for me," Sirius grated out.

Tight embrace, hair against bare shoulders, fingers tangling gently in his hair.

"Was it enough?"

Tongue, tongue velvet at his nipple and teeth, teeth on his heart.

"What?" Sirius asked.

Fingers hooked into the waist of his shorts, nails softy dragging up and down.

"What he gave you, was it enough?"

Hard heat pressed against him at all sides, and still those teeth, still his heart.

"It was everything," Sirius panted.

Fingers, oh, fingers, wrapping around him, around everything.

"And this man, what is he to you? Friend? Brother? Lover?"

And everything stopped.

"Everything, once," Sirius answered.

"So he'd want you to be happy?"

"Yes."

"What would make you happy?"

"Right now?" Sirius asked. "You, in that bed. Forever you in that bed."

"Good thing we brought that lotion," Remus smiled.


End file.
